Game Night (So, Harry Potter's Real?) Ch 3 UP
by damianknight
Summary: The gang gets together for some Harry Potter Jeopardy, but get more than what they bargained for. Uses Carmilla characters. Uses the HP world.
1. Chapter 1

"All right, Laura, you pick."

"Spells for three hundred," you say confidently, giving your team a quick thumbs up.

"Okay! Let's see—oh good one! Name the three Unforgiveable Curses," Perry asks in a singsong voice as she rips off the tag from the Harry Potter Jeopardy board.

You don't even need to think as you rattle them off your fingers. "The Imperius Curse, Cruciatus Curse, and Avada Kedavra!"

"That's right! Three hundred points to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!"

Danny gives you a high five before smugly looking at LaFontaine and Kirsch. Both look highly disgruntled, Kirsch tugging on the Gryffindor necktie LaFontaine lent him.

"Okay, Laura, your pick again." Perry waves her wand over the board, adjusting her witch's hat as she does so.

"What do you think?" You turn towards Danny.

"Characters for six hundred? Go big or go home, babe," Danny responds, giving Kirsch a cheeky grin as she tosses back her tankard of butterbeer and moonshine. He blushes and looks down at his own glass. You and LaFontaine catch each other's eyes, stifling snorts. Kirsch and Danny've been acting all strange for weeks now, and both of them won't do anything about it. But, they're your friends and you respect them. So, every time it looks like they're about to erupt into a cooties war, you good-naturedly look the other way.

"What department did Dirk Cresswell work in at the Ministry of Magic?" Perry reads.

You hesitate. Of course, you clearly remember who Dirk Cresswell is. He escaped with Dean, Ted Tonks, and two goblins during the Voldemort War. But his department? You realize you're stuck. And Danny's no help at all as she's so far gone, she's attempting to pull Kirsch in with his tie and go straight for the kill.

"I'm not sure, Magical Law Enforcement?" you say uncertainly.

Perry shakes her head, smiling when LaFontaine's wand hand shoots up.

"Doesn't he do something with goblins?"

Perry glances down at the cards and nods eagerly, willing LaFontaine to come up with the answer. But they're just as stumped as you are, and honestly you're pretty sure goblins was a lucky guess. You open your mouth to try again but someone beats you to it.

"He's the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office," a husky voice states matter-of-factly from the dark recesses of your room.

You spin around on your chair, staring at Carmilla who, for all intents and purposes, looks completely absorbed in her book. And you're not the only one staring. Nearly everyone's mouth is hanging slightly ajar.

"What? My friend works at the Ministry." She finally snaps her book shut, taking in all your faces.

"The—the ministry? Like _the_ ministry?" You can't help stuttering, roughly stumbling over the words.

She rolls her eyes and slightly shifts on her bed.

"What other Ministry of Magic do you know of?"


	2. Chapter 2

You're still staring at Carmilla. No, scratch that, _everyone's_ still staring at Carmilla. She scoffs and reopens her book.

"You can't just say that and not explain! What Ministry of Magic? Like the one in _Harry Potter_?" you ask anxiously, taking a swig of butterbeer for good measure.

Carmilla grunts noncommittally. You turn to LaF and Perry and they're ogling at you.

"What's going on guys?" Danny slurs drunkenly, completely wrapped around Kirsch.

"Carmilla just mentioned that there is a Ministry of Magic!" you nearly scream as you vault onto Carmilla's bed and attempt to drag the book away.

"Relax kids, I was joking. There is no magic," Carmilla states as she easily pushes you off the bed.

You open your mouth to argue but then spot a broomstick peeking out from under her bed. You lunge and grab it before Carmilla notices. It's a Firebolt. And you can actually feel it come alive in your hands. You let go and it hangs in midair, vibrating noiselessly.

"If there's no magic, how do you explain this?" you point at the floating Firebolt.

Carmilla raises her eyes. You lock gazes, refusing to back down until you get a definite answer.

"If magic was real, I'd be breaking the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy by telling you it was real," she said slowly, like she was trying to explain a simple math problem to an easily agitated toddler.

"But if magic wasn't real there wouldn't be any Statue!" you bawl, starting to feel the effects of the butterbeer spiked with moonshine. Maybe playing that drinking game with Danny wasn't the best idea. But she looked so cute in that outfit that you just _had_ to.

Carmilla sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. You stand up and drunkenly mount her broomstick but can't. You give up and try to marshal your points.

"Okay, so you say magic isn't real, but your broom is freaking floating off the ground! What's going on then? Is it, like, hooked to the ceiling or something?" You wave your hands over the broom, trying to feel for strings.

LaFontaine guffaws.

"Merlin's beard Laura! She's trying to tell you that yes, she's a witch, and yes, magic is real. She just can't tell you outright cause it's against wizarding law," they explain.

Carmilla grins and bumps LaF's fist.

"Right on."

You stare at them in confusion, the alcohol clouding your mind. Didn't Carmilla just say magic wasn't real? And now LaF's saying she was lying. You really don't know who to believe. All you know is you're feeling tired and frustrated and don't even know why. LaF slings an arm around your shoulders and ruffles your hair, gently removing your cup of butterbeer.

"Anyways, shall we continue?" they ask.

"Okay," you agree absentmindedly, still confused as hell. You poke Danny but she's too busy glued to Kirsch's lips to notice.

"So, who's up?" Perry adjusts the jeopardy board.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, pushing its way through the thick fog in your brain.

"Are you lying or am I just drunk?" you ask, twisting your torso so you're facing _her_.

Carmilla simply smiles and buries her nose in her book again. Your shoulders slump. She's just so mysterious that you never know what she's thinking. You sneak a glance at her novel. And your jaw drops.

She's reading _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.


	3. Chapter 3

Your phone blasts Taylor Swift unapologetically at seven in the morning. You jerk awake, spikes of pain shooting through your ears. Wincing from the noise, you clumsily feel around your nightstand for your phone and shut off the alarm. Blessed silence spreads throughout the room. Groaning, you slump back onto your pillows, a pounding headache already in place.

"Sounds like someone had a rough night."

You open your mouth to speak but a wave of nausea overtakes you. Fearing you won't make it to the bathroom in time, you grope wildly under your bed for the trashcan. Your fingers mercifully close around the wire rim and you retch into the bin. Last night's moonshine-spiked-butterbeer messily makes its reappearance as your stomach empties itself of all offending liquids. The flow quickly cuts off as you choke on your vomit. You cough violently and spew out last night's dinner as well, semisolid chunks of cookies cascading into the can. The entire process takes about three minutes.

"Well, that was quite a show."

You shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up at Carmilla. She's casually siting on her bed with a smirk on her face and an open book in her lap. You feel your cheeks burning as she looks at your prone form and chortles.

"Cutie, don't look at me. Look at the floor."

You follow her advice and instantly regret it. The trashcan is made of wire mesh. Wire mesh. Mesh. Mesh does not hold liquids. Which means everything that you just barfed up is on the floor in a disgusting puddle of goo.

"Are you freaking kidding me!" you sigh as your head slumps forward dejectedly. Puking in front of your hot roommate had been embarrassing enough. Puking into a trashcan that could not hold puke felt infinitely more stupid.

"I bet if you called Betty Crocker over she'd be more than happy to clean it up," Carmilla offers as she nimbly gets off her bed and pads to the fridge.

You absentmindedly watch her as she opens the fridge and rummages around. Your eyes hungrily trace the delicate curves of her body. She turns towards you slightly and you shake yourself, annoyed.

"It wouldn't be fair. I'd be using her," you reply as you roughly push yourself up into a sitting position.

"What's the matter with that? Everyone uses everyone else in this world," Carmilla says pointedly as she pulls out her container of soymilk and kicks the fridge shut.

"That doesn't mean I have to do that."

You swing your legs over the edge of your bed and attempt to get up. Dizziness overtakes you and you collapse into the lake of vomit.

"Crap!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Carmilla take a jerky step in your direction before seeming to think better of it. She leans against her bed and watches you impassively as you struggle to your feet. You glare at her and try to wipe your hands clean on your pants.

"You should go take a shower. I'll clean it up."

You laugh loudly at her joke.

"You? Clean this up? Since when have you ever cleaned?"

Carmilla reddens slightly and snorts.

"Just because I don't do it regularly doesn't mean I'm incapable of cleaning once in a while."

You decide to call her bluff by acquiescing.

"Okay, so when I get out of the shower this mess will be magically gone?"

Carmilla snickers and shoos you with her hand as she brings her soymilk to her lips. You notice she still hasn't moved from her bed. She winks at you and tilts the paper box, alabaster throat bobbing as she swallows. You're mesmerized by the way she grasps the container, long slender fingers pale in the morning light.

"Laura. Seriously, get in the shower. You're going to stink up this entire room," Carmilla asserts, "I swear I'll clean it up. Just go before I start to barf."

You wrench your eyes away from her fingers. The smell really starts to hit your nose. Maybe showering first and then cleaning up later is the better idea. You still don't have much faith that Carmilla would take it upon herself to wipe up your vomit, but stranger things have happened, right? Performing an unsteady about face, you dumbly walk into the shower.

Behind you, you hear Carmilla set down her soymilk right before you closed the door.

You strip down, tossing your slimy clothes into the hamper. Your headache hasn't wholly subsided but the dizziness and nausea are much better after throwing up. You step into the stall and turn on the water, yelping when it comes out freezing cold. Hopping on one foot and the other and trying to avoid the icy jet, you adjust the temperature. Hot water finally spurts out and you relax, steam fogging up the glass. The water cascades down your back, washing away all traces of your morning purge. You angle your face upwards and revel in the feeling of cleanliness.

Whoever invented the shower was a genius.

You pick up a bottle of shampoo and squirt some on your head, massaging it into your scalp and closing your eyes as you do so. But something feels off. This doesn't feel or smell like your shampoo. Perhaps it's Carmilla's. That's completely probable. After all, sharing a tiny bathroom with a roommate who owned literally hundreds of beauty products, forced you to hunt through her veritable swamp of conditioners, soaps, and facial creams every time you showered for your tiny bottle of soap. You open your eyes to check if you accidentally grabbed something of hers.

"What the—!"

Enormous purple bubbles are bouncing off the walls and the floor. You watch them silently. Every time two bubbles collide, they coalesce into an even larger bubble. You expect them to burst but they don't. Instead, they seem to gain more momentum and speed with each passing second, racing around the shower in a flurry of rainbow sparkles.

You glance down at the container in your hand. It's labeled _Lavender Brown's Lovely Lavender Bubbles_ in large curvy script, complete with dozens of flourishes and curlicues. A smaller label states that the bubbles can last up to three hours and are nontoxic. You set the bottle down carefully and watch the bubbles frolic in the stall, hardly daring to believe your eyes. A huge bubble headed straight for you explodes right in your face, heady aroma of lavender engulfing your nostrils.

You wave your hands around, trying to dispel the perfume.

"Why does 'Lavender Brown' sound so familiar?" you muse out loud.

Before you can properly think, the events of last night hit you like a wrecking ball.

The gang and you playing wizarding Jeopardy. Carmilla knowing who Dirk Cresswell was and where he worked. Her subtle declaration that she knew someone who worked at the Ministry of Magic. Her floating Firebolt. Her Hogwarts textbook.

Holy Hufflepuff.

You realize you've been hunched over in the same awkward position for over a minute. Straightening up, you hastily turn off the water and frantically abandon the shower, nearly concussing yourself as you slam your forehead into the glass door. Fortunately, the glass is stronger than your head so you don't have to pay for any damages to the school. Unfortunately, a splitting pain explodes behind your eyes as your headache returns full force. Slower this time, you push open the shower door and exit, shuffling along like a cripple. Pulling a towel around your shoulders, you walk out into the room.

The most incongruous scene of your life greets your eyes. A mop, moving of its own accord, neatly swabs the floor. Carmilla stands next to it, a wand in her hand and an incantation dying on her lips. She looks at you and you stare back at her. Water drips from your hair onto the floor around your feet. Without missing a beat, the mop glides over to you and starts cleaning up the growing pool.

Carmilla flicks her wand. The mop falls down, inanimate.

You open your mouth but no noise comes out.

Carmilla unwaveringly holds your gaze.

Thoughts fly around your mind as you try to force yourself to come up with an alternate explanation.

Carmilla quirks an eyebrow at you as she slowly tucks her wand into the waistband of her jeans.

All of a sudden, air rushes into your lungs.

"You... you—oh my God … Carmilla, I—what is going on?" you manage to gasp out.

She seems to deliberate for a second.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I—uh yeah!"

She runs a hand through her hair, tousling her black locks.

"I'm going to call the ginger squad over. Don't move. And for the love of Merlin don't faint."

Without waiting for your consent, she stalks over to the door and exits. You remain rooted to the spot and try to calm your hammering heart.

Before your heartbeat really slows down, LaFontaine, Perry, and Danny enter the room.

"Laura! What's going on? Carmilla said she needed to talk to us together," LaFontaine states as they stick their hands into their pockets.

"Why are you wet?" Danny questions, concern etching her face as she walks up to you.

"Laura, honey, let's get you into some dry clothes. You're going to catch a cold," Perry says warmly as she walks over to you and ushers you to your closet. You let Perry dress you, not caring in the slightest what you look like.

"Okay. Now that everyone's here, I can start," Carmilla declares as she enters the room last, locking the door behind her.

"Start what, Karnstein?" Danny mutters, gazing at the locked door suspiciously.

"If you shut your smart mouth, Lawrence, maybe I can explain," Carmilla shoots back, sitting on the edge of her bed with her hands clasped between her legs.

Danny frowns but doesn't say anything. She folds her arms and sits on your bed. You join her, as well as Perry and LaFontaine.

"Okay, so no one freak out or anything, but—"

"You're a witch, aren't you?" LaFontaine quips, grinning as they drape an arm around Perry's startled frame.

You can hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

Everyone turns to LaFontaine with different expressions: Danny looks like someone just slapped her across the face, hard. Perry's skin turns a mottled green and she looks like she's on the verge of a panic attack. Carmilla looks slightly impressed but quickly assumes her usual apathetic expression. You're sure your face has on an ugly mixture of hope and doubt.

"You got me there, science nerd."

Before anyone can speak or even react to Carmilla's confession, a handsome barn owl swoops in through your open window. It circles around your heads and drops a roll of parchment into Carmilla's lap. Carmilla reaches into her pocket and deftly tosses a small bronze coin into the pouch attached to the owl's leg. It hoots softly in response and soars out, flapping twice before disappearing from view.

Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets. Beside you, Perry clutches at LaFontaine's shoulder while Danny turns white.

"Okay, guys. Everyone, take a deep breath."

No one follows Carmilla's advice besides LaFontaine, who laughs cockily and sucks in a big breath. They exhale with a gusty sigh, breaking the stillness.

A tidal wave of sound surges forth.

"WHAT WAS THAT? WAS THAT ACTUALLY OWL POST? PLEASE TELL ME IT WAS OWL POST!" you scream, jumping up and down in excitement.

"KARNSTEIN IS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE? HOW DID YOU EVEN RIG THAT? I WANT ANSWERS!" Danny shouts, standing up and threateningly pointing at Carmilla.

"NO! MAGIC IS NOT REAL! THERE ARE NO SUCH THING AS WITCHES! THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN! AN OWL DID NOT JUST FLY THROUGH THE WINDOW!" Perry wails as she bounds over to your kitchenette and starts washing the first dirty dish she lays her hands on.

Throughout all this commotion, Carmilla and LaFontaine remain silent. Carmilla shoots LaFontaine a dirty glance that seems to insinuate that they caused this uproar. LaFontaine simply shrugs and walks over to Perry, gently massaging her shoulders while whispering something in her ear. Perry seems to calm down a tiny bit as she's stopped madly scrubbing the plate she's holding. You quiet down too and plunk down on your bed as Danny stops wringing her hands and sits next to you protectively, glaring at Carmilla.

"Can I continue?" Carmilla snarks.

"Please," you reply, leaning forward eagerly.

"So, yeah. I'm a witch. Magic is real. Harry Potter is real. Basically, everything that squib, Rowling, wrote is true."

"How'd she get away with that one?" LaFontaine asks before anyone can speak.

"She wanted to publish an biography of Potter when he got rid of Voldemort. It was such a good book that everyone thought it should be shared with Muggles too. Cause, you know, Potter and his army sort of saved their asses as well. So the publishers put a Disbelief charm on the series so whoever read it and was a Muggle wouldn't believe magic was real."

"That's actually pretty clever," LaFontaine chuckles, "and I'm assuming once a non-Muggle tells us about the charm we won't fall under its influence anymore? Aren't you breaking the Statue though?"

"You haven't even heard the full story yet and you're asking questions?"

"Right. Sorry, go on."

"Anyways, so magic's real. Yes, I'm breaking the Statue of Secrecy and I'm technically supposed to be making you guys swear Unbreakable Vows but we'll get to that later. The reason why I'm allowed to tell you this is because of you, Laura," Carmilla says looking at you coolly.

"M—me?" you stammer out.

Carmilla nods slowly, eyes locked on yours. Your confusion must show on your face because Carmilla gives you what looks like an attempt at a reassuring smile. It comes out more as a grimace, though.

"I've been sent here to protect you."


End file.
